Drunken Nights
by JohnWatson-Holmes
Summary: Sherlock drinks himself into a state like no other, and John is left to pick up the crumbling pieces. The only thing on his mind while his hands pushed down onto that pale chest was to keep Sherlock alive. If not, John would be at fault.
1. The alcohol and effects

"Joh… John!" Sherlock yelled from his lying position on the floor. His letter sounds slurred together.

"Sherlock, you need to get up right now!" John yelled down at him, sober. His eyes were ablaze with panic and worry. His voice was stern.

"But…" Sherlock mumbled incoherent words for a moment, "Jawn!" he whined, stumbling and failing at sitting up from the hard wood floor.

Sherlock drank more than enough for one person. Bloody hell, more than enough for ever two people. Two empty bottles of whiskey which were both previously partially full and one completely spilled and tipped over rested on the sticky floor. John had been stupid enough to give Sherlock time to drink.

"Get up! If you do not get up you will be sleeping on this floor. Do you hear me Sherlock?" John all but growled down at the curly haired man. Nothing could describe his feelings of frustration towards the man supported in his arms.

"John… pwease…" Sherlock was a mess. His deep purple shirt was half un-tucked and wrinkled. One sock half covered a pale foot and the other was bare. His charcoal grey slacks were spotted with spilled alcohol.

John sighed; dragging Sherlock's fumbling body away from the sticky floor and onto the carpet. Sitting down, he gently placed Sherlock's head in his lap.

"Hey…" John idly stroked Sherlock's hair, trying to form the right words. "It will be okay Sherlock. I do not want you to promise me that you will not do this again, because I know you. At some point you will do this again and you will just feel worse because you promised me." John whispered to Sherlock.

The two of them had fought earlier in the day and John, as usual, stormed out in a mass of rage. That left Sherlock to suffer from the words John said to him. The words he vowed to never say again.

"John…" Sherlock's eyelids flicked and he squinted. "I sowry." His breath caught for a moment and he coughed. "No… promises…"

"Yes Sherlock." John cooed, "Just go to sleep. I will be here for you when you wake up." John sighed, wanting this disaster of a night to be done with. But this was Sherlock; nothing could ever be easy with him.

"I am not a pirate…" Sherlock accused John. "Nor do I have any pesos…." Sherlock's breath caught again and he shuddered violently, trying to regain the lost oxygen. John should have seen this coming.

"Sherlock?" John was worried now. "Hey, Sherlock, listen to me." John shouted softly.

"I am…. Imma throw up…" Sherlock rasped out before managing to sit up and retch violently onto the floor.

"Shit." John muttered, picking himself up and holding Sherlock steady. The sound of it was horrible. Sherlock's body convulsed and his back arched. He coughed and took sobbing breaths. His skin was covered in gooseflesh and ashen. Why had John not noticed earlier?

"Breathe Sherlock. Come on, you will be okay. Don't you dare pass out on me." John called out to Sherlock. The consulting detective took more shuddering breathes before his back arched and another round of vomiting hit him.

John quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and called Mycroft. The elder Holmes picked up in two rings.

"_Holmes._" the posh voice sounded.

"Mycroft, it is Sherlock. We had this fight earlier and he has drunk himself into a state of minor alcohol poisoning." John knew the elder Holmes could hear the sobbing and retching Sherlock in the background.

"_I am sending paramedics over now. I will have a room prepared immediately. How much did he drink?_" Mycroft's voice was not as clean cut and posh as it was seconds ago. His voice was laced with worry.

"Enough Mycroft. More than enough." John spoke smoothly, trying to calm the torrent of emotions surging through him.

"_What did you say?_" Mycroft questioned.

"Something I am never going to say again. I will inform you of it later Mycroft. I think he has stopped breathing." John's voice hitched at the end and he threw the phone away from himself as Sherlock collapsed.

Rolling Sherlock over quickly, John titled his head up and checked for any breathing. There was none. No tickle of air against his ear, no rasping sound, no rise of the chest. This was going to be a long night.

John started chest compressions immediately, going into doctor mode. His hands worked swiftly and firmly, forcing Sherlock's chest down with thirty compressions before blowing two breaths into the man's lungs. He repeated that over and over, his arms never tiring. He had to make sure Sherlock lived. He just had to. He would not be able to live with himself if Sherlock died.


	2. John's Promise

John could now hear the sirens in the background. He could hear Mrs. Hudson rushing to the door and opening it and exclaiming about what was happening upstairs. The sound of heavy steps thundering up to his flat did not make John falter. He only stopped once the paramedics ushered him away. The instant he stepped away he could feel his arms burn. His own chest was heaving from exertion and he gripped onto the back of his chair to support himself. From behind all the chaos and shouting paramedics, one umbrella wielding man showed himself.

Mycroft strolled quickly over to were John was hunched over. John's breathing had somewhat calmed and he could not bear to look at the scene before his eyes. Mycroft did not look either, casting his eyes away and taking in John's appearance. Mycroft had already calmed Mrs. Hudson down and sent her back down to her flat. The paramedics carried Sherlock off on a stretcher and left Mycroft with John.

As soon as the door clicked shut, John was slammed back against the wall with an unbelievable force. Mycroft's once collected face was forced into a glare, his teeth slightly bared.

"What have you done to my brother, Doctor Watson?" Mycroft bit out, unashamed of his emotions.

"Mycroft!" John started, "We had a fight, and we always fight." John tried to defend himself from the wrath of the elder Holmes.

"No normal fight would cause him to do this." Mycroft growled, "Do you know how long he has been clean? How hard we have all tried to keep it that way?" Mycroft shouted at John. John looked light a deer in headlights.

"Mycroft…" John forced away all the pain, fear, and anger. He took a calmed breath and looked Mycroft in the eyes. John started while Mycroft glared. "I called him a freak." John admitted.

John's head slammed into the wall from the momentum of Mycroft's punch. The elder Holmes stepped back and rubbed his knuckles before returning to his usual posh self. John was astounded. He could taste the blood from his split lip and his eyes watered from the grazed impact to his nose.

"I hope that one day you will forgive me for that, Doctor Watson." Mycroft said calmly, all and anger stashed away for another time. "I do hope that you understand to never say those words again."

"I do." John replied, finally picking his jaw up from the floor and wiping away the blood. "I swear to never say it again."

"Wonderful." Mycroft said. He walked over to the door and opened it, pausing before leaving. "I am sure that you would like to come with to the hospital." Mycroft stated.

"Yes. Yes, of course." John replied quickly, grabbing his coat from the hook and following Mycroft out the door.

"_Why is it so bloody dark in here?_" Sherlock mumbled to himself, not being able to open his eyes. His body felt like a fire. His insides churned and wanted to dislodge themselves from his inner walls.

"_My eyes will not open… Unconscious perhaps. My chest feels as though it has been hit with a ton of bricks, and John…_" Sherlock's inner dialogue cut off at the name he spoke.

The darkness and silence was deafening. He could feel nothing but his own body, and yet Sherlock felt as though he were in someone else's mind entirely. He could not move any part of himself. His mouth tasted like bile.

"_Oh. I see. I drank myself into alcohol poisoning. I must have stopped breathing or else my chest would not feel so bruised. John…_" Once again the mantra was cut short at that name. Sherlock's heart ached.

"_No, no… that name is of no importance anymore. He is the one who caused this. It must be deleted._"

Try as he must, Sherlock could not delete all the memories of John Watson. He remembered every little thing, both good and bad.

"_Why can I not move? I need to do something!_" Sherlock growled, feeling his body grow colder and his mind become less attached. Fighting against the pull of complete darkness, he knew that he could not win. It was an impossible battle to win.

"_John… I need John._" Sherlock cried out in his mind, still struggling to overcome the shadows.

On the ER table Sherlock's body jerked and twitched, his muscles clenching and going taught. His breathing stopped once more as his body seized. ER doctors and nurses struggled to keep his body still and secure a breathing tube inside of him. If he did not get enough oxygen to his brain, he would suffer irreversible damage.

John and Mycroft could only watch hopelessly from outside of the room as Sherlock was restrained and hooked into many different machines. It was a sight that the two of them would not forget.


	3. The Impatient Wait

"Mycroft?" John inquired, subconsciously stroking at his scarred shoulder. John had a habit of doing that when he was nervous. He could not pull his eyes away from Sherlock.

"Yes, Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asked, not removing his eyes from his brother's body.

"I know that I am the doctor and all," John paused, his heart clenching as Sherlock's heart stopped beating once more. He could barely stop himself from running in and helping Sherlock himself. "Will Sherlock be okay?"

Mycroft was the one who had experienced more of Sherlock's drug habits than anyone else. Being Sherlock's older brother he knew just about everything there was to it. Sherlock had many addictions when he was younger. His body became more resilient to drugs and alcohol.

Mycroft did not know how to reply to John. Yes, Sherlock had his habits. But never before had he gone so far as to make his own heart stop beating. He had been close at times, but it never had.

"I think it is best if we go into a waiting room and leave the doctors to their business." Mycroft replied in a cool tone. He avoided the question at all costs. Mycroft did not want John to hear his opinion because Mycroft, for once, did not know how things would turn out this time.

Sherlock had fallen hard for John, Mycroft and everyone else around the two could see that. Sherlock let himself be weak. Mycroft had told him that 'All lives are lost, and all hearts are broken" when he first realized the budding romance. He wanted Sherlock to understand if things did not work out.

Obviously, Sherlock did not listen to Mycroft. When did he ever listen to Mycroft? One day Sherlock would see that he has more than one person that cares about him.

"Mycroft? Mycroft…?" John's voice shook Mycroft from his thoughts.

"What is it?" Mycroft took a moment to wipe the confusion and worry from his face to listen to John.

"Are you going to be okay?" John asked, his brow crinkling in worry. He fiddled with the hem of his jumper. Mycroft sighed.

"Yes. Will you?" Mycroft asked back, adjusting his own clothing. Neither Mycroft nor John were going to deny their friendship, however awkward it was.

"Not sure yet. I should be." John sighed in defeat. He slumped down in a chair next to Mycroft. "I just… I do not know what to do right now. I am shaking with worry and I can not even think straight." Mycroft could see the trembling in John's hands as he gripped onto the chair's armrests. Even all the nights he spent with Harry when she was bumbling drunk did not help him with Sherlock right now.

John gripped the chair's arms to try and stop the qualm of his shaking limbs. He still had the urge to run back into the room and help the doctors with Sherlock. John knew that if he made any move towards the door he would be rushing out to get to Sherlock.

Things in the emergency room had gone quiet. No doctor's or nurses were shouting anymore. Neither John nor Mycroft could hear the sound of a heart monitor or machinery that should be hooked up to Sherlock.

John's heart skipped a beat. He knew his thoughts were running wild, but he could not prevent the ice cold fear from seeping into his limbs. Mycroft was the first to react.

"Stay here." Mycroft commanded while standing up from his seat. He straightened his tie and strolled out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, John was up and out of his seat pacing. Sherlock was fine, John kept repeating to himself. He had to be fine.

"Fuck." John whimpered, falling back into his seat and struggling to keep his emotions in check. It was his fault that Sherlock was like this and he knew it. John shut his eyes. He could not stand to look at anything. The cream colored walls were blinding, the muted television attracted too much attention, and the smell emanating from the coffee machine was nauseating.

John knew only a minute had passed but the time felt as though hours traveled by. Mycroft still had not returned with news. Whether the news would be good or bad, John wanted to know something about Sherlock's condition. Anything at all would stop the quaking of his limbs and ease the tension the littlest bit.

Then Mycroft strolled back into the room, looking as calm and collected as ever before. No emotions showed on his face as he sat back down in his seat next to John. Said man had long before opened his eyes and was watching the elder Holmes with, once again, a deer-in-headlights expression.

"They are moving him to the ICU now," Mycroft spoke softly and relaxed back into the chair. John's shaking ceased and his eyes prickled tears. The stress of the evening had finally left him, but the stress of Sherlock's recovery only just started. Sherlock was still alive and that is all John cared about.

"I'm sorry…" John whispered flatly. He felt numbed after everything as his mind switched back to the fight.


	4. A little thing called Love

John only remembered the most important part of the fight. He and Sherlock, well, only John had been yelling the whole five minutes the fight had been going on.

"Fuck this, Sherlock!" John had shouted in frustration. He was tired of Sherlock's attitude, the multiple experiments, his lack of social etiquette, and his overall Sherlock-ness.

"It is not my fault, John," Sherlock simply stated while keeping his eyes on the microscope. John seethed.

"Fucking freak!" John spat the words before storming out of the flat and down the stairs to hail a cab. What he did not get to see in his haste was the way Sherlock's body tightened and went taught.

Sherlock cringed and froze on the spot at John's words, his eyes going impeccably wide and his mouth opening in a soft gasp. Real pain shot though him and he lowered his head, leaning to rest against the back of the chair. He felt numb and devoid of emotions as the pain left him as quick as it came.

That was when he started drinking and spiraling down into a dark abyss. Sherlock did not care as he popped the top of an older bottle of whiskey and chugged from the bottle. Another one rested next to him, waiting to be re-opened. It practically begged to be swallowed, so Sherlock did just that. He polished off the first in record time and went on to the next.

By the time the second bottle was polished, Sherlock's walls were crumbling and the alcohol sloshed onto the floor. He was intoxicated to the point of throwing up all over himself. His vision was blurred and his head spun. All he could see were cloudy images and bright bursts of color.

His mouth could not form words correctly and he spoke in broken syllables and slurred letters. He had moved position from the kitchen to the couch and then onto the floor, where he sat when John found him. When he had first heard John stomping up the steps, he had rolled over towards the door and knocked over the bottles. He had cried, "Joh… John!" and that is what lead the two into the ER.

Back to the present, Mycroft shifted around in his seat. "As you should be," he dully responded to John's apology. That only made John feel worse. He knew he had screwed things up for good this time. Sherlock would likely never let him back in after everything.

John's thoughts blurred together as he tucked himself up into the chair. Soon enough a restless sleep washed over him and he shut his eyes, falling away into his own thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Break*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John snapped awake at a shake on his shoulder. A young, blonde nurse was shaking his shoulder and holding a cup of coffee for him to take. John took it gratefully and swallowed a long sip before waking up completely.

"Mr. M Holmes told me to wake you," the nurse informed him with a dainty smile, "he says you may stay in Mr. S Holmes room now, so if you would follow me," the nurse, whose name John saw was Ali, walked to the door of the room. She paused and waited for John to get up and follow.

John pulled himself from the uncomfortable plastic chair and limped towards her. His PSTD was acting up once more. He followed Ali through the corridors and past dozens of other rooms before she stopped at the door to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock's room was in a more secluded part of the hospital away from the other patients, thanks to Mycroft. Ali walked away and left John to go in by himself. Taking a breath, John bashfully entered the room, his eyes zoning in on the detective's persona.

Sherlock's skin was still pallid and sickly looking. His eyes housed heavy bags under them which contrasted darkly with his skin. His curls were limp and greasy after having not been cleaned in so long. An IV stuck out from his hand and medication was slowly being pumped into his veins. A breathing tube jutted out from his mouth and the sound of the oxygen pump was the loudest sound in the room.

John, being a doctor, knew that some patients could hear what was going on around them even in their unconscious state. John silently prayed that this would be the case with Sherlock. After having lived with him long enough, John had come to understand some of Sherlock's feelings and thought process. He sighed and sat on the very edge of the hospital bed.

"Hey," John started quietly, taking Sherlock's hand into his own. "I know you must hate me now after everything, but I want you to know I am sorry," John continued on, watching for any sign of Sherlock responding. He did not receive one and went back to speaking.

"Sorry does not even begin to explain how I feel about what I said and did," John's voice cracked lamely and he cleared his throat. "If you can not hear me right now, I am going to repeat everything again when you can hear. Hell, I might even do that regardless of you hearing me or not. I do not," John paused, contemplating his next words before rambling on again, "I do not think you are a freak. That is something you will never be. You are amazing, brilliant, and fantastic even. But even then, you are so much more," At this point in his little speech, Mycroft was outside of the room and standing at the door to listen.

"Sherlock, you are the greatest person I have ever met in my life. You may not be the most social person, but you shine in a crowd. You speak out when no one else will, and I do not even care if what you say is rude. That is who you are, and that is the person I… love," John choked on the word, feeling tears sting at his eyes again.

"Remember when I would always argue that I was not gay? Well, I'm not. But you are something special and changed my eyes to see a different light. You are the only one Sherlock, and right now I am almost hoping you can't hear me. I guess through this I realized that I care," John squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter in his own, "I wish you felt the same. It sounds stupid, but give me a sign. Anything to tell me that you don't hate me and care too. Please," John broke off and hunched forward, letting the tears fall down. Little did he know, Sherlock could indeed hear his words.

"_John…" _Sherlock's thoughts were clouded and fuzzy, but he could feel distinct warmth on his hand. Sherlock tried to open his eyes, yet they remained shut as if by an invisible force. Focusing on the sounds of the room, he immediately picked up on John's voice.

"_Oh, John, silly John,_" Sherlock thought and felt his own chest ache. What John had said to him had torn a whole into his heart, but not one that could never be mended. Sherlock was too mature to let something so little follow him the rest of his life. "_But he hurt you,_" Sherlock contemplated, "_he dealt the lowest blow he could… but look at how you acted,_" Sherlock internally winced at his method of coping. The excessive drinking was not John's fault. It was a habit from his past high school years, but even in his comatose state he knew he had taken it too far. "_But he can hurt you again,_" one of the many voices in Sherlock's head called out.

"_Or he could not,_" another part of Sherlock argued back. Voices of his shouted back and forth until they came to a sudden halt at hearing the word 'love' fall from John's lips. "_Love?_" he thought to himself, turning the word over carefully in his mind. Love, meaning an intense feeling of deep affection or to feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone. Is that what he felt for John?

"_Yes!_" a voice inside of him shouted, louder than all the rest. Then the hand, John's hand, tightened around his own and he heard the man's plea. The plea to give John a sign to show he does not hate him and cares the same. Such a strong bond had grown between them, and Sherlock realized that he would be damned if he let it fall apart. By giving in to the plea, he understood that it would still take plenty more healing for John to fix what he had broken. Willing his hand to squeeze John's back, he twitched his fingers ever so slightly before being able to grip onto John's own. Sherlock clutched tightly to John's hand and never wanted to let go of it again as the foreign feelings of love swam through him.


	5. Author's Note

Hey guys! I feel awful. I'm going to be posting this note on both A Chance to say Goodbye and Drunken Nights. I'm so, so sorry for not having any updates lately. I have tried to type, but I can't. I have little to no motivation and no inspiration, so I need your guys' help. By that, I mean I need help with getting motivation and inspiration.

If you have any ideas or things you'd like to see in my stories, let me know. I'm always open to ideas.

Just tell me anything that might give me motivation. Offer me good songs that will make me want to write. Anything. You can private message me any and all ideas you have to help me along. It would be appreciated. Hopefully I can pull out a chapter for each of these stories before the end of the month.

Thanks! Bye for now!


	6. He's Awake

John jumped at the feeling of his hand being squeezed. It shocked him enough for the tears to stop streaming down his face. He glanced down at the pale hand clasped in his own and then let his eyes flicker to Sherlock's face. Said man's eyes were twitching behind the lids, which was a sure sign that he was beginning to come out of his comatose state.

Mycroft chose then to walk into the room and see everything. "Do go and get the doctor, John," Mycroft more or less ordered the ex-army doctor. Without another word or look, John was up and out of his seat. He darted into the hallway to look for Sherlock's doctor or any one of his nurses. He was ecstatic at the thought that Sherlock had actually heard him and was going to wake up.

Trudging down the long hall a ways, John stopped at the desk of the ICU to see one of Sherlock's nurses. She was idly typing away at one of the computers, so John waited patiently for her to finish whatever it was that she was doing. In little to no time she was done and looked up at him with a smile.

"What can I do for you?" She asked sweetly, standing up from her spinning-type chair and straightening her pink scrubs.

"Sherlock seems to be waking up, could you find his doctor?" John asked her with a giddy grin. The prospect of Sherlock just happening to come too at the same time never occurred to him. The nurse went wide eyed in surprise for a moment.

"That's great!" She exclaimed with a laugh. "He should just be finishing up with another patient right now. I'll inform him. Oh, would you mind doing me a favor while you're here?" She pushed her hair behind her ear and continued to smile at John. John, being oblivious to her flirting in his excitement nodded his head.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, trying to calm down. He figured doing a small favor for one of Sherlock's would work as a way of thanking her.

"Could you run down to the cafeteria and grab me a coffee? Just tell them Jenny asked for it and they'll give it to you," she said while walking away from John. John nodded as she walked away and started to walk further away from where Sherlock was.

Taking the elevator, John made his way to the cafeteria quickly. Upon receiving the nurse's coffee, he paid for one of his own. He had calmed down enough by now to start thinking about the situation with Sherlock.

"What if he doesn't want to see me?" John mumbled to himself out loud while sipping his coffee. He decided to take the stairs back up to Sherlock room this time so he could sort through his thoughts. He walked past white door after door and picture after picture that was hanging on the walls. He was only a few floors down, so he knew by the time the nurse got her coffee it would be perfect drinking temperature.

"Maybe he won't forgive you," John pondered, thinking about how the consulting detective would react to everything that had happened. Mycroft had forgiven him already, but Sherlock was a different story. It was difficult to try and predict what would happen next.

John hoped that Sherlock would forgive him. He hoped that Sherlock heard everything he had said, including the declaration of love. If not, John would be embarrassed.

"Maybe it might be better if he hadn't heard me," John's cheeks flushed at the thought. He trudged up the first flight of stairs with ease. The coffee wasn't jostled as he kept his hands steady. His footfalls echoed in the stairwell as he cleared flight after flight before coming to the exit to the ICU unit. Slightly out of breathe, John pushed the door open and headed back to the front desk where the nurse would be waiting.

On the way, he noticed the curtains were drawn shut where Sherlock was being held. John titled his head in confusion as he passed but continued on anyway. John finally reached where the nurse was waiting for him. She was back to typing away at the computer and looked up with a smile at John.

"Thank you so much," she took the coffee from John and drank a large gulp before setting it down. John nodded his welcome and wandered off back to Sherlock's room. The teal colored curtain was still drawn and John thought it would be best to not go in at the moment. He could faintly hear Mycroft and the doctor conversing and the occasional cough from Sherlock.

"_He must be awake now,_" John thought with a grin. John hoped there would be no permanent damage from all the alcohol Sherlock ingested. That way, things could go back to being mostly normal for the two of them. Sherlock could continue doing cases with John and John could go to work at the clinic in between. Sighing contently, John leaned against the wall and waited until he could see and speak to Sherlock again.

**((I apologize for this being so short. It's all I've come up with this week and I have nothing for ACTSG D: I hope you like it anyway!))**


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